


Delicacies Worth Chasing After

by delinquentdee



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternative Universe - No Island, F/M, Fluff, Ice Cream, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-14 00:50:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11196990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delinquentdee/pseuds/delinquentdee
Summary: All she wanted was some ice cream, not a spot in the 2020 Olympics. Although, competitive ice cream truck chasing would be entertaining.





	Delicacies Worth Chasing After

 

What are the fundamental differences between a bus and a truck? Felicity was pretty sure that what separates the two vehicles is whether or not they were designed to hold passengers. School kids, hippies, a whole bunch of Lucy Ricardo cosplayers à la _Rat Race_ \- if you saw their outlines in a coloring book, you would place them in their corresponding bus vehicles (cheese bus, Volkswagen, and Greyhound respectively). You wouldn’t put passengers in the container carrier of an 18 wheeler. The collective “You” meaning a set of sane and rational humans. Crazy people put living beings in containers. Trucks transport your packages from Amazon and that Hemnes desk from Ikea that you’re pretty sure Curtis could have fit in the car instead of renting a UHaul for the day. 

So there, bus equals livery and truck equals cargo. 

But then again, Marty Nichols called his brother’s Jeep Wrangler a truck all the time, and there was never an instance that back seat wasn’t full of people. 

It seemed like this question was better left for those old dudes on that car show, or a particular linguistic major ex boyfriend who loved to argue with you over what line was drawn that separates a bowl from a cup. It didn’t really matter over who you’re gonna call over this definition dilemma, all that mattered was that an ice cream truck was two blocks away, and Felicity Smoak was finally getting in some cardio. 

The average assumption might be that an athletically challenged woman such as Felicity who was wearing heels all day and was now sprinting in said heels had to be insane to a certain extent. Insanity might even explain why when galloping through the streets in heels she was contemplating what constitutes a bus or a truck instead of what cone choice she would pick. Felicity’s line of defense against lunacy would most likely be two words that would help even the most confused of audiences understand her predicament, and those words were Donna Smoak.

Somewhere in the hard drive that is Felicity’s brain is a folder filled with Donna Smoak quotes. For the most part they were little quips made to casino patrons that Donna served cocktails to, not Felicity directly. Donna worked long hours and as a single parent didn’t have the luxury of relying on her other half to watch their beautiful little girl. So while her mom would schmooze vacationers with money to blow, Felicity would sit with a book, or a Gameboy, or any other doodad that would keep her occupied safely behind the bar, listening half halfheartedly to her mom’s one liners. 

Sometimes a young Felicity would cringe with embarrassment like when her mother told a bride-to-be, “Good girls get presents at Christmas, bad girls get presents all year round,” and left with a rather saucy wink, as well as an unnecessary reminder from her daughter that they were Jewish. 

Sometimes an inquisitive Felicity jotted down a reminder to look up facts, like when a soft smiled Donna told that kindly older man that his daughter’s heartburn most definitely meant he was getting a grandbaby with a head full of hair.

And sometimes Felicity would roll her eyes, like when Donna firmly looked into the slightly inebriated eyes of a woman crowned ‘Newly Divorced’ when she said, “There’s two things in life that you don’t chase after: a bus and a man.”

At the time, Felicity thought all her mother’s chatter took gold in the race from one ear out the other, but it seemed that they never made it to the finish line. On certain occasions, the usual voice in her head took on a distinct Donna tone and repeated those lines.

December’s holiday parties at MIT were less “Ugly Sweater” and more “Choose Which Chimney To Visit, Santa”. Felicity couldn’t help but think about Donna’s passing quote about presents as she looked around the room in search of a keg. Felicity wasn’t surprised at remembering her mother’s words all the way in Cambridge years later- Donna did always love to crash a party.

Though Felicity and Donna had a strained relationship at times, with their interests seeming to lack a common thread, Felicity  _ never _ thought her mother to be unintelligent. When hearing expectant mothers at grocery stores and pharmacies talk about heartburn, there was always an uninvited voice to jump in and say old wives’ tales shouldn’t be listened to. The kind of voice belonging to a person who would get one look at Donna and give her a fake tight lipped smile. The type of person who would see Donna as a woman who had big hair and an empty head. 

It filled Felicity with a sense of pride and triumph when flipping through channels to discover a study at Johns Hopkins confirmed the heartburn/hair connection. He mother wasn’t an idiot, thank you very much. 

And here Felicity was, running through the streets of Starling, heels pounding on the cement wondering if her mother would consider an ice cream truck and a bus to be the same thing. 

As the distance grew slightly shorter between a slightly-more-dewy-complexioned-than-when-she-left-the-office-Felicity and the greatest iced treat known to man, her confidence that a child would flag down the truck increased. There had to be a kid somewhere around here drawn to the bewitching melody. 

The conditions were just right: 

It was a beautiful night. 

In late spring. 

On a Friday.  

There was no better time to have ice cream! If she had enough restraint (and if she were given a magical ice cream that didn’t melt) she would have waited to eat her cone back home on her stoop. She could casually sit and enjoy watching neighbors pass with their dogs. Watch the night grow darker and the city’s lights get bolder. Maybe she would even catch some lightning bugs when she finished, it was just that picturesque of a night. She was jolted from her pleasantly quaint, yet somehow drastically  clichéd fantasy night by the sound of tires screeching. 

She wasn’t quite sure if the truck stopped specifically for her or not. For how bold they are, Starling squirrels could be the new Gryffindor mascot. She herself has had to stop short on many occasions, muttering  _ Please be okay _ a half a dozen times before seeing their stupidly adorable tails make their way to the sidewalk. Whatever the reason, she was able to catch up quickly.

Though she was certain that the truck would stop before, now she almost expected it to speed away just out of her grasp. She was steeling herself for disappointment when a familiar face, sure to be more delicious than any dessert in the vehicle, popped out the window. Oliver Queen. As in billionaire heir, Oliver Queen. Connoisseur of fast cars/motorcycles/women, Oliver Queen. Technical boss/coworker and slight friend, Oliver Queen.

His face lit up in recognition- probably pleased that the woman running after him wasn’t a an ex of any sort. Felicity was proud of herself for continuing to make her way to the window. He had the most irritating ability to make even the most simple of tasks impossible. One cute grin could make her knees wobble at work. He certainly knew his effect of women, though if he knew how he made this particular woman react is impossible for Felicity to tell. She believed she kept her feelings under wraps, at least in front of him, but she was always a bit hopeless at a poker face. He had plenty of women running after him, mostly in the figurative sense. He couldn’t possibly be tempted by an IT genius whose weekend highlight would most likely be catching up with an ice cream truck. It certainly would be the most physically productive thing done all weekend.

His smile was out of control. “Didn’t you promise Curtis you were going to leave early today?” He asked, arms perched on the window. Were his forearms on the menu? If so, she will have them both, thanks. Toppings? Not on the forearms, but she wouldn’t be opposed to chocolate syrup somewhere else. She cursed to herself. She knew her brain-to-mouth filter was unreliable.

“Hello Oliver,” she gave a little wave. “Just so you know, I did leave early today. Queen Consolidated isn’t going to go bankrupt from my over-time hours, I promise.”

He chuckled. “The company would lose more money from your absence than it ever would paying you overtime.” 

“Is that your way of telling me I’m ridiculously underpaid for my many talents?” Her eyes squinted and grin turned sly. Almost like she was flirting. Which she would never do. Because she can control herself.

“We could never afford to pay you your true worth, Felicity. You’re invaluable.” He took a brief pause, punctuated with a wistful smile . “So what can I get you? No wait, let me guess. I’ve been getting pretty good at this.”

She moved closer to the window peering inside. “So we’re not going to talk about your new office? I wasn’t aware you put in your two weeks notice.”

His eyebrows crinkled in a picture of pure confusion. “I didn’t tell you? I could’ve sworn I did.”

She shook her head, encouraging him to continue.

“I wanted to surprise JJ. It was his last day of kindergarten. I figured it would score me major uncle points to show up bearing sweet cold treats.”

She shook her head again, this time in confusion.. “I must’ve missed the point where you jump from buying him ice cream to buying an ice cream truck.”

He held up a finger in mock irritation. “I rented an ice cream truck.”

She slapped a palm to her head. “Duh. How could I come up with such a ridiculously extravagant explanation as to why Oliver Queen is driving around in an ice cream truck?”

“Temporary insanity,” he said with a shrug. “Happens to the best of us.”

“It must’ve been all that running I did to catch up with you. Did you know that heels aren’t the preferred footwear of track and field athletes?”

Oliver all but jumped out the small window trying to get a look at her feet. 

“You ran after me in those?!” His tone was manic, bordering on deranged.

“What would  _ you _ do for a Klondike bar?”

“Felicity,” he chided.

“Hey, don’t look at me like I’m insane. Shouldn’t you have been looking out for possible customers?”

“I’m really sorry. Thea’s gonna be so pissed, I can tell you that."

“Thea?” she asked, confused as to why his sister would care about her running. “Is she back there with you?” 

He scoffed. “And let her jump in on being the coolest adult JJ knows? Absolutely not. She thinks that I torture you enough at work. When she hears about the situation I put not only you in, but your shoes also, I am sure to be on her bad side.”

That revelation was shocking. She met Thea a handful of times. Felicity didn’t think Thea would even recognize her outside of a work-related setting, but here Oliver was talking about how his sister is privy to their workplace antics. 

“She says ‘All shoes are glass slippers to their owners.’” He quoted Thea with a ridiculously terrible impersonation that was just so… brother-ish.

“I swear,” he continued, “she says it so much that whenever I see shoes being mistreated, I say it in my head too! I must be going crazy.”

“You and me both. All I could think of for the past three blocks was my mother saying to never chase after a bus or a man. Thankfully, this is a truck.”

He crossed his arms, making his muscles look even more pronounced. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a man. Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to emasculate the guy giving you ice cream?”

She rolled her eyes. As if anyone could ever consider Oliver Queen anything but a man. A very manly man. A fine masculine specimen.

“Pretty sure my mother meant that figuratively. You have plenty of women running after you in that sense. No need to worry about me physically chasing you in the streets.”

His arms slipped from their place blocking his chest and moved to get a grip on the window’s lip. He leaned forward, as if he were about to share a great secret.

“If you were to chase me, I promise I’d chase you right back in any and all definitions of the word.” His admission was given while he stared into her eyes intently. He lightly tapped on the window before pulling himself inside. “Let me go get your ice cream.”

While Oliver was working on whatever concoction he thought she was going to ask for, she was faced with the realization that maybe their office bantering was rooted in something she never hoped to dare for.

He must have worked quickly, because before she could dwell on her epiphany, he returned. 

“Waffle cone vanilla with rainbow sprinkles and chocolate chips.”

She smiled at his creation.

“How’d I do?” He asked, looking down at er eagerly.

“Not too bad. I don’t think i would have ever thought to go with this mix, but that doesn’t mean I hate it!”

He blushed lightly. “I tried. It’s easier to guess what little kids want. In a shocking twist, girls and boys wearing ninja turtles shirts also want ninja turtle ice cream.”

“Alert the presses,” she joined in holding her snack tightly, trying to gage whether they were going to be awkward now that he suggested what she thinks he suggested.

“So, how much do I owe you?”

“It’s on the house. Or truck, actually. You can’t legally sell this without a proper license, so i’ve been somewhat of a dairy fairy all afternoon.”

“Total missed opportunity for a Dairy Queen joke there. But you’re a good man Oliver Queen.”

“Good enough to date,” he asked, hope pouring from his eyes.

Her cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink. “Definitely. Good enough to chase, even.”

Emboldened by her response, his chest puffed out and he stood just a little taller. “I’d love to take you out to dinner. It would be the perfect opportunity to learn your actual ice cream order.”

She tutted. “That’s a third date minimum kind of conversation.” The words slipped from her lips before she could analyze them. She closed her eyes and sighed. “That is not what I meant at all.”

He chuckled loudly, absolutely tickled by her, it seemed.

“Come on. I’ll drive you home before you start breaking all your mother’s rules and decide to get in the car with strange men next.”

She smiled brightly. Pleased with the unexpected turn of events. Also, who couldn’t be happy with an ice cream in hand and cute boy to tease.

“What makes you think you’re not strange, Mister Softee?”

**Author's Note:**

> The idea popped into my head, unsurprisingly enough, when I encountered the world's worst frozen yogurt induced brain freeze. Shout out to all the lactose intolerant readers. 
> 
> Thanks for reading :)


End file.
